


Market Price

by desperationandgin



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperationandgin/pseuds/desperationandgin
Summary: Claire happens upon a farmer's market and is intrigued by one vendor in particular.





	1. Prelude to a Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Just a take on a modern AU for my first attempt at Outlander fic. Chapter One is short and probably will be the shortest of the series. There are projected 6 chapters with 5 written, so fear not, the WIP.

Saturday mornings that find her still in bed languidly stretching in a cocoon of warmth are rare. Rarer still is her silent phone that hasn’t once beckoned her out of bed before she’s ready. Which might’ve had something to do with telling the Chief of Surgery to go fuck himself the night before. Admittedly, it wasn’t her finest hour, but after listening to the man berate her for minor things all day (swapping the times of a few surgeries after speaking with patients, letting two residents switch rotations, taking a break between surgeries to go off campus and eat, simply sharing a quiet laugh with Joe during a meeting) she’d had it.

_"Do you take your job seriously, Doctor Beauchamp?”_

_"What sort of question is that? Of course I bloody do.”_

_“Then do you care to explain what you find amusing in regards to the patient we’re discussing?”_

_“Absolutely nothing; my conversation with Doctor Abernathy had nothing to do with--”_

_“So you admit to being insubordinate?”_

It was such a leap that the response had been automatic, her mouth getting her into trouble before she could think about what telling her boss to go fuck himself would cost her.

A week’s suspension with no pay was the answer.

Claire’d been livid at first, walking home in a fury of anger while talking to her friend on the phone, cursing the man further.

“Do ye want me to put a wee hex on him then?” came the obvious solution from Geillis.

“You know I don’t believe in that, but all the same, it couldn’t hurt.” Her friend had, at the very least, managed to make Claire huff out in amusement before convincing her it was just a sort of forced vacation. A chance to have control of her own schedule for a few days. After sleeping she’d come around to it, and now Claire lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and mentally deciding what she might accomplish. The problem was, truly, that she lived to work. There were the odd nights out; drinking with the colleagues she actually liked after a shift, or nights she and Geillis watched trashy American reality shows while eating all manner of horrible junk food. Every now and then, Joe invited her to dinner with his family, but for the most part, that was it for Claire; she had no family, no spouse. Her last relationship ended when her fiance couldn’t face the idea of her first passion being medicine. As if that was supposed to change with a ring on her finger.

Sitting up in bed proves to be all the jostling her stomach needs before growling, prompting her to wander to her kitchen and open the fridge. Nothing but days old takeout and a stick of butter. _Way to take care of yourself, Beauchamp_. Usually, there wasn’t time to cook a proper meal and the butter was only for toast when the bread hadn’t yet molded before she had the chance to eat it. With a week off, though, she needs more than bread and butter. Glancing at the clock, she trudges back to her room and dresses in jeans, an old t-shirt with _Lallybroch Farm_ written across the chest, hair thrown in a haphazard pile of curls on top of her head. An early weekend morning means roaming the farmer's market she always means to peruse and never can due to her schedule. So, she goes, able to enjoy a Saturday morning for the first time in months.


	2. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A t-shirt as a meet cute.

It’s the shirt he notices first, the pendant type logo advertising the farm staring him squarely in the eyes as he looks up from where he’d been arranging cheese. As soon as his gaze drags upward, though, the shirt becomes unimportant - even if later, he’ll recall every single detail about her on the day they met.

“Do you sell honey?”

Her voice is all at once musical and smokey; not high pitched but sure and firm. Her eyes aren’t on him, but rather the spread of offerings he has with him today which gives ample opportunity to be in awe of every curl on her head, coiled as if ready to spring into some sort of action. He watches her fingers close around a tomato and why it makes his throat go dry he’ll never know.

_She asked a question, eejit._

“Aye, we do, lass. Here.”

He has to turn his eyes away from her for a moment and his hands actually fumble for the object he’s going for, clearing his throat. “Raw, straight from the comb and jarred two days ago, even.”

When she takes the jar from him their fingers brush and her eyes lift to meet his. “What would you--”

“I see ye have--”

They speak over one another and Jamie ducks his head, willing himself to slow down before gesturing in deferment, looking back up at her, smiling. “Ladies first.”

“I was only going to ask which of your cheeses you might recommend pairing with it and whether you knew wine pairings as well.”

“Hosting a dinner then?” he asks conversationally as he moves toward a selection of cheeses generally a bit nuttier and sweet.

“No. I’m afraid it’s an indulgence for one. I intend to do it right, though.”

Jamie glances up, catching a small smile on her lips that doesn’t quite meet the rest of her face. Still, he hands her a brie. “Nothing wrong wi’ spending quality time wi’ yer own thoughts. Ye should try this. Drizzle a bit of honey over top. Or, try a _Caboc_ if ye dinnae mind a bit of sour wi’ yer sweet.” He begins slicing her a small sample of the latter.

Taking it from his fingers, Claire chews thoughtfully and raises an eyebrow. “You make and grow all of this?” she asks as she notes not just honey and cheese but a wide variety of vegetables, eggs, and meats.

“Oh, aye. But no’ just me. My sister and her husband as well. There’s a bit of staff, hard workers, a butcher and the like. It’s what I was saying before, the shirt. We dinna sell clothing but there ye are.”

Glancing down at her own attire, she puts it together, looking back at him. “This is all Lallybroch Farm? I had no idea; the shirt was in a pile of donated clothing at the hospital and I grabbed it when a patient quite impressively vomited all over me. It was the only thing that fit at the time. If you’d rather someone not wear it who has no connection…”

Jamie shakes his head, waving her off. “Dinna fash; free advertising. I should give ye my thanks for it.” He decides to do just that, bundling a selection of cheeses and fruit together to go with her honey. “And as for wine, try a fruity red. Beaujolais, perhaps. ‘Tis the only thing I canna actually sell ye today.”

She’s surprised at the bag he finally gives to her without taking any money, and she can’t accept it, not all of it for nothing. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I would like a dozen eggs, please, and a rack of lamb chops.”

“An entire rack? I thought ye said it was an indulgence for one?” he asks, even as he grabs the eggs, one eyebrow arched.

“Have you _seen_ a lamb chop? They’re tiny. Are you commenting on how much I plan to eat? That’s bold of you.”

“Only because I dinna ken where ye plan to put all the cheese and meat in such a wee frame. But I wilna let that stop me from trying to get ye to buy a loaf of bread. Canna have a charcuterie board wi’ out _bread_.”

“Oh, so now I have an entire charcuterie board, then?” she asks in amusement, though she does reach for a nice crusty loaf, soft on the inside.

“Weel, ye said _indulgence_. Ye may as well _indulge_.” Which is why he slips dried salami into her bag, a small link. “I’m Jamie Fraser, by the way. No’ that ye asked since ye were so busy goin’ on about yerself,” he teases. When he sees the corners of her lips twitch up he relaxes a bit more.

“Claire Beauchamp. It’s very nice to meet you. And I do see you sliding more things into my bag.”

“‘Tis only so that ye’ll spend more later. A bit of a marketing tactic,” he freely admits. More teasing.

“Well, at this rate, I’ll need someone to help me eat this after all.” The words come out before she realizes the implication of them (a common thread in her life that will one day either get her into hot water or open doors) and she can practically feel him trying not to offer his company. “Do you ever get to indulge?”

It’s supposed to be an innocent question, but the way her eyes meet his and the way he looks at her makes her stomach knot almost immediately.

“Eating the fruits of our labor is counterproductive to making a profit, ye ken. Christ, I hope ye are no’ in charge of anything financial at the hospital.”

“No, I only cut people open for a living. You really should try some of what you sell, Jamie.”

In truth, of course, he samples his own farm’s goods and he’s about to mention as such when she says his name and it sounds as though she’s been saying it all of her life. “Perhaps one day a lass who canna pronounce her own last name will ask me to dinner.”

Claire stares at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to be offended. “My last name is pronounced just fine, thank you.”

“It sounds as though someone said it drunk, once, and it stuck forever.”

There’s a huff from her but the way amusement lights her eyes can’t be hidden. “You’re beginning to ruin your chance for a nice meal at mine.”

“Oh, so there’s a chance then?”

When her eyes meet his again she finds him grinning a bit, and God he’s attractive. Curly hair and broad shoulders with eyes as blue as the ocean. “There’s always a chance, isn’t there? Though you do have to take a risk to get there.”

Take a risk? Jamie’s forehead creases for a moment until his features relax in understanding. “Well then, Sassenach. Might I be able to find myself at yer home for a meal in which I provided all of the food?”

“What?”

“I asked--”

“I know what you asked, what did you call me?”

He pauses wondering for all of a second if he’s made a misstep. “An outlander. Someone no’ from Scotland. A Sassenach.”

“I can’t decide if I should be offended or not,” Claire muses, reaching for one of his business cards with a put upon huff.

“Ye shouldna be.”

“Well, that settles that then,” she says with a roll of her eyes, looking at the card. “Is this your mobile number?”

He’s casual when he shakes his head and plucks the card out of her fingers and writes on the back. “There. My own number, not the farm’s.”

Tucking the card into the bag as well, Claire’s eyes move over his face as she shifts her groceries into her other arm. “I suppose I’ll have to call to give you my address then.” Is she truly doing this? Inviting the farmer from the market to her home? Geillis will be so proud.

“I suppose ye will. Though how many ‘Beauchamps’ can there be in all of Edinburgh? I could find ye.”

It sounds like a challenge and Claire laughs, deciding if he’s meant to join her, it will happen.

“Alright then. Find me, Jamie Fraser. Tonight at seven. Come and find me.”


	3. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie finds Claire. Dinner happens, though not quite the meal either of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the feedback for Chapters 1 and 2 was so great that I couldn't wait any longer in the day to post Chapter 3. Lucky you!

“Ye should wear somethin’ a bit sluttier, Claire.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Geillis, do you ever listen to yourself speak?” Still, as she regards herself in the mirror, ‘beige turtleneck’ doesn’t exactly scream sex appeal.

“I’m only sayin’, an attractive farmer is coming for dinner and ye’re dressed like a nun on a ski trip.”

“What does that _mean_?” But she knows, and so off comes the turtleneck (God, it isn’t even cold) as she tears through her closet. “I’m not wearing a dress, it’s too much.”

“So be _casual_ about it, then. Relaxed. Leggings because it’ll show off yer arse and a fitted tee. One wi’ a wee cheeky joke on it. The kind ye wear when ye work ten days straight and have no’ done yer laundry.”

“I am _not_ wearing the shirt you gave me that says ‘one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.” Said as she does pull out a burgundy colored fitted v-neck t-shirt. It’s not fancy, but she does agree with the leggings idea. “Christ, what if he dresses up?”

Geillis scoffs. “Men dinna ‘dress up’ on a house date. Jeans, perhaps a leather coat because he’ll think it’ll impress ye. Some sort of button up. Trust me. A man’s idea of dressing up is a shower and cologne. Ye said he called ye ‘Sassenach?’ Pet names already?” 

“It isn’t a pet name. Help me tame my curls, please.” 

Sitting, her friend dutifully begins to style and soon there’s some semblance of an actual hairdo instead of the mess earlier. “What do ye call it then when someone calls ye something _other_ than yer name?” 

Claire rolls her eyes but lets out a breath, not answering the question. “I haven’t been on a date since Frank, you know.” 

“And?” 

“ _And_ it will go the same. Fun at first, especially this week, then frustration as the reality of my schedule sets in. Then he’ll eventually give up and that will be that.” She’s already resigned herself to it, apparently. 

“Have ye ever considered, Claire, that he’s a farmer? Which means up at dawn and hard, long hours? Not to mention a nice tanned body, muscles for days. A certain strength in his hands…” 

“I’m sorry, would _you_ like this dinner instead?” 

“Are ye offerin’? Because aye then, I would.” Geillis moves around to look at Claire. “Are ye letting what one selfish bastard did keep ye from ever trying again?” 

Is she? Claire looks at herself in the mirror, then takes a deep breath and lets it out. “No. No, I deserve this. Don’t I?” 

“Of course ye do. And I looked at yer astrological chart, yer due for some _mind-blowin’_ sex.” 

At that, Claire laughs and they ease into the kitchen together, chatting, putting together the food, letting her friend make the lamb because truly, Claire has no idea how to cook. “He was so sure of himself, me being the only Beauchamp in the area.” 

“Well, ye are, so he should be here soon, aye?” 

Glancing at the clock, she realizes that yes, Jamie would indeed be there soon - if he were punctual anyway. “Are you sure I look alright?” 

Stealing an olive from the spread set up on the table, Geillis appraises her friend and nods. “Ye look fuckable,” she decides. “Leave yer feet bare, it suggests more casualness, ye ken.” 

Before Claire can do anything other than roll her eyes there’s a knock. “Oh, Christ, he’s ten minutes early. Don’t say a word,” she warns, wiping her hands and making her way to the door and opening it to him. 

Damn Geillis for being right. 

He looks incredible; jeans, a plaid shirt untucked and perfect. There’s no leather, but she can’t stop looking at those beautiful copper curls framing his face. For a moment she forgets to speak, lips parting as they take each other in, very aware of his eyes moving from top to bottom over her frame. 

“I found ye, then.” 

Why those words make her heart tighten in her chest she doesn’t know, but lucky for her, Geillis appears in the doorframe introducing herself as the pair moves further into the apartment. “Weeeeeeeeeel, I should go,” Geillis decides, sing-songing the words. “Jamie Fraser, a pleasure. Claire.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Have a mind-blowin’ evening.” 

Once she’s gone and Claire’s decided to murder her later, she looks at Jamie and smiles with a hint of nervousness. “Make yourself comfortable. It isn’t much, but it is home.” 

“Can I help wi’ anything? Although by the smell of it, there may no’ be much to help with.” The offer is made as he walks inside, looking around; it’s not overly large or overly decorated, and he wonders how much time she truly spends doing anything other than sleeping in her own home, what with a doctor’s schedule. 

“No, no, it’s all coming together. You sit, I’ll pour wine unless you’d like something different? I bought what you suggested. For the cheese and honey.” 

Once he sits, he reaches for a piece of prosciutto and puts a sliver of goat cheese on top. “The wine will be fine, but come here first.” When she’s close, he hands her the offering. “It goes well together, aye?” 

Taking the bite from his hand, Claire closes her eyes and chews slowly, savoring the way the flavors explode in her mouth; tangy goat cheese with the buttery, salty flavor of the prosciutto. “It does. Now you know why I’ve asked you over. To help me better understand food combinations. I thought the meat would go best with the hard cheese.” 

“Och, no. ‘Tis good ye have me here, Sassenach. I’ll teach ye.” He glances at the brie. “Ye can bake this one,” he tells her as he gestures. “And it goes well wi’ fig preserves.” 

With a scoff, Claire opens the wine bottle. “I’ve done well to even display the prosciutto that impressed you so much. Trust me, you’re the expert here.” 

He smiles, watches her turn to pour the wine, then clears his throat. “Ye look...well, ye look verra bonny. Better than bonny.” 

Putting a wine glass in front of him, she sits and smiles in amusement. “Better than? That’s quite a compliment, though you do clean up well yourself.” A downplay of words. He looks incredible, smells incredible, and she’d like to never stop looking at him. She’d also like to see how thoroughly he can wrap her in those arms but she is, perhaps, getting a bit ahead of herself. 

“Farmers do manage to bathe every now and again. For special occasions and the like.” 

“Oh, so this is a special occasion?” 

“Dinner made for me by a beautiful woman? Aye. ‘Tis special.” 

Claire blinks, looks stunned, and takes a sip of wine. She’s gone from bonny to beautiful and tries to cover her expression behind her glass. 

“I didna mean to make ye uncomfortable,” he apologizes, mistaking her action for such. 

“ _Uncomfortable_? No, no, I’m not. It’s only been...well, it’s been some time since I’ve done this.” 

“Had dinner with someone?” 

“Been on a date,” Claire clarifies. But when she looks at him he’s grinning at her, leaning back in his chair. 

“Oh, this is a date now? No’ just a casual dinner wi’ a friend.” 

“Did you want me to _just_ be a friend?” She calls his bluff, reaching for a piece of fruit and looking up at him with a smirk before popping it into her mouth. 

“I want this to be whatever it is ye want, Claire. But I do think no’ kennin’ ye at all would be verra disappointing,” Jamie confesses, idly taking a piece of bread for himself. 

“Well, as I said, I’m not uncomfortable,” she promises, putting her glass down and smiling softly. “But I will be honest with you. I don’t have the sort of schedule that allows for much free time. I work a lot. I’m hardly home and before the market this morning I had nothing edible here other than butter.” She got rid of the old takeout, just in case he peeked in her fridge, and now there’s a fair offering of other foods, even some beer that she’ll likely never drink. 

“But ye have the time now,” he points out. “So here we are. I understand a grueling work schedule; maybe no’ completely the same, but I do understand backbreaking work that must be done.” 

Claire lets out a soft breath and pauses a moment. This is how it starts, she realizes. It sounds easy but maybe, if he understands, if he’s just as busy, it could be different. Or, they could both be frustrated. “I’m only here tonight because I told my direct boss to fuck off. Or to go fuck himself. I can’t quite remember which.” Might as well be honest. 

For a moment there’s silence until Jamie laughs loudly, leaning back in his seat and dragging a hand over his face. “I dinna ken much about ye, Sassenach, but I believe, wi’ no doubt, that it’s somethin’ ye would do.” 

To hear him laugh and to know _she_ caused it creates a warmth blooming in her belly that surprises her. The way his face lights up, the way he brings a hand over his stomach, is nothing short of beautiful and her smile is bright and wide. “Well, I’m glad your opinion of me hasn’t changed.” 

“Oh, but it has. I think more of ye now.” 

When he says that she looks down and a hint of blush colors her cheeks. It seems effortless, the way they go back and forth in their conversation. Already it feels as though they could speak for hours about anything, though only an hour of getting to know one another goes by while they snack on various meats and cheeses before she notices his expression shift. “What is it?” 

“That smell. Is something burning?” 

Claire’s eyes widen as she shoots up. “Oh, _fuck_ , the lamb!” She has the presence of mind to grab an oven mitt and pulls the very blackened and smoking lamb chops that were roasting out of the oven. Throwing the pan in the sink, the clattering seems to go on forever until silence falls on the scene and they’re both left with the acrid smell of burnt meat. “ _Fuck_.” 

Jamie stands beside her, arms crossed over his chest loosely. “I think it’s burned, Sassenach.” 

“Oh, Christ, you bloody Scot, I know it,” she says, tossing the oven mitt on the counter. 

“And that would be the beautiful lamb ye bought from me this morning?” 

“ _Yes_. Anything else?” 

“Ye canna cook, can ye?” 

Claire stares at him, lips parting in preparation to be upset but it fades to complete resignation. “No, I can’t. Geillis did this, I was only supposed to be keeping it warm but I must have turned the heat too high. I can’t cook, Jamie. I can’t pair wines well with meals, I eat takeout every day, sometimes twice a day. I’m rarely home at night, I work too much, I--” 

She doesn’t get another statement out before his lips are pressing to hers. 

It’s one way to shut her up. 

“Do ye want to keep telling me about what ye think all yer negative qualities are, or can we move on?” he asks, once he pulls his head back. 

Claire’s so stunned that she can only nod as she looks at him. 

“I’m going to leave now, but I’m coming back, so dinna fash. Open a window, perhaps,” he teases gently. He doesn’t try to kiss her again, not wanting to overstep as he goes to the door. “Forty-five minutes or less,” Jamie promises, and then he’s gone. 

In the wake of that, Claire stares dumbly at the closed door, then turns to look at the ruined rack of lamb. Christ, why had she even _considered_ it? And then to try and serve the same meat that he’d sold her and to ruin it so spectacularly. 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt _Christ_.” 

She’s angry at herself but too intrigued, really, to dwell on it. She has no idea where he’s gone, though she assumes it has something to do with food. And then, there was the kiss. The absolutely heart-stopping kiss that she wasn’t ready to end. He’d pulled back though, not pressed or pushed. ‘Intrigued’ is the only word she can come up with for _all_ of it. 

Rather than try to clean the roasting pan, Claire throws the whole thing in the bin, takes out the garbage, then goes back to the apartment and opens the windows in the living room, lighting a candle and placing it in the center of the coffee table. _Great showing, Beauchamp_. What a wonderfully fucked first impression. She puts up the charcuterie and on the premise that he will indeed return, pours more wine for each of them. Just as her eyes meander to the clock, there’s a knock on her door. 

Forty-five minutes or less, and it was thirty-two. Impressive. Opening the door for him, he holds up a large bag with _Baba Restaurant_ written on the side. “A wee bit of everything?” 

Claire smiles softly and nods, stepping aside to let him in. “Exactly what I wanted. Though, I can’t say I’m familiar with the restaurant.” 

“They dinna usually provide take out, but our farm supplies them so I asked a favor.” Pulling out containers he puts them all on the table, buffet style so they can serve themselves. “Prawns, in case ye like a wee bit of seafood, charred broccoli and lentils in case ye’re a secret vegetarian and that’s why ye canna cook lamb,” he teases. “But I also _brought_ lamb. Potatoes for sides and carrot salad.” Stepping back, he smiles a little, almost shyly. “Will it suit ye then?” 

The look on his face makes her stomach flip ( _God, he’s charming and thoughtful and sexy when he’s unsure of himself_ ), though she looks completely stunned at all of the food, that he brought back so much. “Jamie, it’s...I eat out a fair amount but this is the nicest food I’ve had in a long while. Or _will_ have. Thank you.” For a moment, her fingers lightly graze his wrist before Claire moves to the kitchen and returns with both plates and cutlery. After they serve themselves, she waits until he’s settled to take a bite. “Well, it’s wonderful so far. Everything is sourced from Lallybroch you said?” 

Jamie takes a bite of potatoes and nods, wiping his mouth before speaking. “Aye, except for the prawns.” There’s only a slight pause before he launches into his next question. “Why did ye want to try and cook for me when ye dinna ken _how_?” 

Claire’s mouth opens, then closes, trying to give him a real answer rather than something off the cuff. “It wasn’t for you, not when I bought it. I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself when needed. I suppose I failed at that spectacularly.” 

“I wouldna say that, Claire. Ye’ve made it this far. It’s no’ a bad thing to need others.” 

“How does the saying go, though? That if you can’t enjoy your own company, you aren’t ready for the company of another?” 

Jamie’s eyebrow quirks. “I dinna think that’s quite how it goes. And if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, whoever made ye think that is _a bod ceann_.” 

“What in hell is that? English, please.” 

“A dickhead, if ye’ll pardon my boldness. Ye dinna need to be the one _doing_ for everyone at all times. Ye’re a surgeon so yer time is no’ yer own while ye make people whole again. And because of that, ye are no' supposed to let anyone do anythin’ for ye?” 

Claire looks down at her pate, thinking about his words as she pushes food around with her fork. “I was engaged.” Before she can think about it the words tumble out of her mouth. “We were together for two years and I truly thought he understood what my passion was, what my schedule would be like, for the most part. But then he proposed as if he thought that would change things. That I would put aside my life and what I enjoy doing to be a housewife. When it was clear to him it wouldn’t be that way he left. _After_ some parting words about loneliness being a choice.” 

Jamie’s been listening and by the time she’s done, he’s frowning, food forgotten for now. “I stand by my former assessment of ‘dickhead,’ then. Whoever’s so lucky to have ye, Claire, they wilna ask ye to give up a part of yerself. Ever. Ye make it work and make sense for the pair of ye.” 

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she manages a small smile before looking at him, consoled by his words, letting them be a balm on the wound that was Frank Randall. “Thank you, Jamie. For the advice, for the food. For actually coming back,” she says with a laugh. 

“Oh, I had to return, ye’re too interesting to me, Sassenach. And besides which, I’d like to see ye again.” 

“Another date?” she asks in surprise, unsure why it shocks her but not unpleased. 

“Aye, though no cooking involved, I promise. I thought perhaps a tour of the farm if ye have any interest. Lunch, maybe?” 

Claire ducks her head, smiling to herself. He’s nice, he’s a gentleman. He’s the very model of handsome which doesn’t hurt. “I do think that would be nice, Jamie. I have quite a lot of interest.” 

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, taking a bite of the lamb. “If ye came ‘round somewhere between ten and eleven in the morning, I wouldna mind.” 

“I’ll be there,” she promises before they fall into conversation ( _A back and forth; childhood pets, favorite foods, holidays, movies_ ) while they finish eating. But he seems aware of not over-staying even if she would be more than happy to take the conversation to her living room. Before she can offer, he’s up and cleaning his plate in her sink. 

“Ye can keep the leftovers seeing as how I’m afraid ye’ll burn down the entire apartment if ye cook again.” 

Claire scoffs and stands beside him to dry. “Arse. Though not a completely incorrect one. I told you, I don’t cook.” 

“Lucky for ye I do. No’ anythin’ _gourmet_ , but ye wilna starve as long as ye keep dating me.” 

She laughs and looks at him. “Oh, so that’s your pitch for getting me to date you? That I’ll be well fed?” 

“Aye. Is it working?” he asks with a grin, turning to face her fully. 

Looking up at him, thoughts filter through her mind ( _It can’t be this easy. He won’t always be like this. But God is he charming now._ ) before nodding her head, an easy smile on her lips.

“Aye.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baba Restaurant is real. I hope the food is really good because I've never been there and relied on Google for help. But the reviews say it's one of the best!


	4. Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire meets Jamie at Lallybroch. A horse ride and more conversation ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the continued positive feedback. Chapter 5 is coming Monday as I take a wee break for the weekend!

Finding Lallybroch was easy, and as she makes her way onto the property she can make out Jamie talking to employees. He’s in profile, muscles very apparent through his t-shirt, jawline strong and with a stance that makes her want to sculpt him in stone. Christ, she’s never met a man who looked so naturally fit, who was so comfortable in his own skin. When he laughs, his entire upper body moves with it and she can see, even from this vantage point, the way the corners of his eyes crease. When someone nods in her direction, Jamie’s attention shifts and Claire waves, making her way toward him as he breaks away from his crew. “I found you,” she calls, repeating words from the night before.

Jamie smiles at her, expression warm and just barely containing how pleased he is to see her. “Aye, that ye did. And I must say, for the record, that ye look verra bonny again.”

Claire looks down at herself in white shorts and a light blue cap-sleeved shirt. She’s never been one for full makeup and so only has a bit on, her hair down, curls free. When she looks back up at him, the intensity of his gaze makes her stomach turn liquid and her heart thump, hard against her breast bone. “Thank you, Jamie.” She takes him in as well, jeans and boots, a very tight grey shirt and hair tied back into a neat little ponytail. “I like seeing you this way.”

When he begins walking, Jamie waits for her to fall into step beside him. “What way is that, Sassenach?”

She smiles and shrugs her shoulder a bit. “Well, I just mean...in your element. Doing what you love to do.”

He smiles broadly and leads her to the stables first. “I was born to be outside, ye ken? I’m no’ sure what I would do in an office building, a suit and tie. A bit how ye’ve always kent ye belong in a hospital.” Gesturing to the horses, Jamie reaches for a saddle. “Do ye ride?”

“A bit, not in a long time,” she decides after a moment of contemplation. “And I have always known, from a very young age, what it was I wanted to do. I used to travel all over the world with my uncle, sometimes to places where healthcare was inadequate. It was always devastating to see, to know there wasn’t much I could do to help, uneducated as I was back then.”

Jamie has quietly decided to only saddle one horse so that she can ride with him while they tour the farm, but he’s also listening to every word she says. “A world traveler, were ye?” he asks curiously, reaching out a hand to help her onto the horse.

As she accepts the assistance it gives her time to contemplate her answer while he mounts behind her. His chest is like a solid brick wall against her back, and she has to clear her throat to get her thoughts on track. “I was. My parents died in an accident when I was young. Young enough to not quite remember them well. So, my Uncle Lamb raised me but didn’t sacrifice his job to do it.”

As they ride out of the stables, Jamie can’t help but continue to ask questions while mentally filing away every fact she tells him. “Oh? What job was that?”

“Archaeologist and historian. I had a very unconventional upbringing and by the time I’d finished all of my school testing I’d been to every continent except Antarctica. He taught me that I shouldn’t need to sacrifice what I love doing for someone. He still loved me fiercely while taking me all over the world. I never thought otherwise.”

“So, when this ex-fiance of yers came ‘round, ye kent ye were better than accepting the sort of things he said to ye?” Jamie asks, the horse trotting them down to the fields as he tugs her back, just a little, against his chest only to keep her close and safe. Wouldn’t want her to fall off.

“I knew it, but I didn’t want him to mean his words seriously. I…” Claire trails off, very aware of the way Jamie’s holding onto her and not disliking it, but unsure of the topic. “I’m sorry, this is a bit heavy for a second date.”

“Is it?” Jamie asks, shrugging against her. “I thought it was only a conversation, no’ anythin’ that has to mean _something._ ”

She understands; he won’t judge or hold against her what she thought she had with Frank. So, hesitantly, she continues. “I loved him, and I think he loved me, for a time. I would have married him, I would have been happy to be his wife.”

“Until he tried to force ye to pick him or the hospital,” Jamie remembers, glad she can’t see his face as he scowls a bit.

“Right. Until that.”

“I ken ye should no’ have to choose. But I suppose I wouldn’t be well-versed in the goings on of long term relationships seeing as how I’ve never been in one. Are things supposed to change much? Are ye expected to give up what ye feel called to do?”

So many things are said at once that Claire is quiet for a solid minute as they ride. “I’m sorry, did you just tell me you’ve never been in a relationship before?”

“I’ve been in relationships, just no’ any that lasted as long as two years and then some.”

She can feel the shrug behind her back, no shame accompanied by that admission. “To answer your question, no I don’t believe you’re supposed to give up a part of yourself for someone, not like that. Why haven’t you ever been in a long term relationship?” She’s more curious than put off by it.

“I suppose I’m too particular, Sassenach.”

At that, she laughs under her breath. “Oh? What exactly have you been looking for, because I’m not sure I’ll pass muster.”

“Weel, the funny thing, Sassenach, is that I'm positive ye already do, so. Go on ahead now and ask me what it is I look for in a woman to date _long term_.”

Claire turns her head just enough to look up at him with a puzzled but pleased expression. He’s implied not only that they’re dating but _long term dating_ and she’s known him for less than two full days. “Alright then. You’re very bold, but I’ll listen to what your criteria happen to be.”

Jamie guides them toward a field of heather, away from the farm proper, but something worth seeing nonetheless, not part of the official tour. “First, understanding of a farmer’s schedule. I’m up at dawn and sometimes no’ back until after dark. Especially during harvest, it’s no’ easy to be wi’ someone in this profession.”

Well, that makes sense; it was Claire’s primary concern too, and she hums a bit. “A doctor’s schedule is a bit the same in regards to long hours so I do understand that, Jamie. Go on.”

“The second thing is love of family. No’ that I would ever judge a lass for no’ being comfortable around bairns, but my sister has two of them and one on the way; I could never bring someone home who couldna stand the chaos and rabble rousin’.”

Claire raises an eyebrow, feeling something hitch in her throat. “You want me to meet your family?”

“Ye canna just be ‘the lass I met at the market’ forever. Or, ye could be, but I would rather ye meet everyone _eventually_ if it’s all the same.”

She smiles a little. “Well, I’m an orphan with no siblings. I think I’d quite like to be around a large family.” She doesn’t really know what that’s like, a holiday spent gathered around a table with more than just her and Geillis. Often, Joe invited her to things, but she felt like such a stranger, intruding. “What about your parents?”

Jamie shifts behind her, thumb lightly grazing her side. “My mam passed when I was no’ but a lad. My father four years back.”

Claire falters, trying to shift to look at him.”Jamie, I’m sorry,” she murmurs, but before the guilt from bringing it up can creep into her features, his lips find purchase against her temple, lingering there for a few beats before he simply continues with the conversation.

“There’s only one more thing, Claire, and ye cleared it day one.”

Relaxing and turning back to the view in front of her, she’s curious, wondering what she could have done _yesterday_. “I did?”

“Oh, aye. I positively, under no circumstances, could ever be wi’ a woman who can out cook me.”

The way he makes her laugh makes her feel as though someone lit a spark in her, and she relaxes more against his chest. “You truly are an arse, you know.”

He laughs, pleased with himself. “Oh, I ken it, but hopefully, no’ too big of one that I’ve ruined my chance for a third date?”

“Well, I would say that depends,” Claire muses. “On if you fit _my_ criteria.”

“Och, yer makin’ it up now, copying me,” Jamie protests, leaning down from the horse precariously and plucking purple heather, handing the stem of it to her.

She notes the meaning of the flower ( _admiration_ ) and lays it in her palm. “Did you know heather can be used to help with urinary tract infections if brewed into a tea?”

“Verra romantic. ‘Tis my top romantic fact,” Jamie remarks.

“Sorry, sorry. Off topic. Anyway, my criteria for a long term relationship. First, must be Scottish.”

“Are ye bein’ cheeky, Sassenach?”

“Yes. Number one you already know the importance of: my work schedule. So, moving on from there, I could never be with someone who hogs all of the blankets.”

“No need to worry. I run hot. Next,” Jamie says confidently.

Claire knows she’s about to shift the tone of things, but for as jovial as they’re being, she needs him to know the truth of how she feels in regards to her own self in the wake of a relationship ending. Looking down at the heather in her hand, she lets out a soft breath. “I won’t ever change a part of myself to fit into an ideal, Jamie. I’m not a housewife, not a won prize.” She understands that things have to shift and bend in order to work, but she’d let Frank do too much of the bending until he’d finally broken her.

She isn’t sure what to expect; if Jamie will have anything to say, if he will be put off by her words. So, when she feels him press a lingering kiss to the back of her neck where it dips to meet her shoulder, she’s not only surprised, she shivers, letting her eyes close just briefly before opening again as he speaks.

“If ye changed then ye would no’ be the Claire Beauchamp I met yesterday. I dinna want ye to change. If this is _you_ , why would I want any other version of ye?”

The fact that she can’t turn and look at him fully bothers her until she feels his hand slide around her waist to tug her closer. “Dinna fash, Claire. Perhaps, one day, we’ll change one another until we’re different, but I promise, no matter what we become after today, it will be pretty.”

Her head falls back to his chest, having no idea why she puts so much trust in his words when she only met him yesterday, but she does. It’s a feeling, like crackling in the air before a storm.

This is _something_.


	5. Formal Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire have a dinner reservation. They may not get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued love! This chapter is decidedly NSFW. Or not, I can't tell you what not to do at your job!

Dates three and four (tapas and another farm lunch respectively) consisted of more easy getting to know you questions: First kisses (hers in Egypt when she was nine years old and his behind a barn at thirteen), first jobs (he’d always worked the farm which she decides is admirable; she worked at a bookstore in college which he’d called ‘predictable but respectable’) and the like. Date five, though, the ante has been upped.

Date five is dinner at a reservations-only restaurant, which means dressing up for the night in clothes that don’t exist in any sort of regular rotation. Geillis helpfully supplied the choice in venue absolutely means sex afterward and now, in nothing but scraps for underwear, Claire is changing the sheets on her bed, making sure that in the event they _do_ come back to hers it looks at least halfway presentable and not as if she’s laid around in her time not with him eating crisps out of the bag while watching Netflix.

Christ, she’s a certified disaster.

As she looks at herself in the mirror, passing dress after dress in front of her body, she huffs and bites at the inside of her bottom lip as she tries to decide between little black dress A, B, or C. Throwing all three on her bed, there’s a hint of color in the very back of her wardrobe and she pushes everything aside until revealing a deep, merlot-colored dress that Claire most certainly didn’t buy. Pulling it out of the dry cleaning bag she reads the note pinned to the fabric and rolls her eyes.

_Figured you had nothing sexy enough to get laid in so you can borrow mine. Don’t ruin it doing filthy things - G._

“You’re a terrible friend,” Claire mutters in jest before making adjustments to her underthings and tugging the dress on; thin straps, pulled in at the waist and hugging her hips with a very daring neckline. _Not bad, Beauchamp._ Frank had always liked her to be a bit more conservative, so while she has plenty of clothes for going out, there isn’t anything quite like this in her repertoire. There was an internal debate with herself, to leave her hair curly or straighten it, but Jamie seems to like tugging at her curls when they kiss (he finally had again, yesterday. Well, they full on _made out_ until he had to go back to work after lunch) and she _very much_ likes it. Curly it is, a bit of makeup, black heels and one last pep talk in the mirror.

She’s nervous in a way she hasn’t been in a long time; she was nervous when she went on her first date with Frank but it was different. She felt as though she had to impress him with her intellect. With Jamie, her nerves are in anticipation of him simply _looking at her_. Without fail, every time his eyes land on hers she feels as though she might break apart in a mix of want and need; it’s exhilarating and feels dangerous, in a good way. A perfect way.

When the sound of his knock finally fills her apartment, she makes herself wait to the count of five to steady her pulse before opening the door. What she wants to do is greet him, but what actually happens is a slight parting of her lips as she lets her eyes move over him, taking in the sight of Jamie filling her door frame. His hair is down as well, red curls that brush the back of his neck (curls she’d like to take her turn tugging), wearing a charcoal grey suit that she’s positive has never looked this good on any other human male alive. He’s wearing a watch that she’s sure she’s never seen him wear before; his cologne smells like cedarwood and something citrus, spicy. By the time she makes her way back to his eyes he’s staring at her, his gaze making her legs liquid as she reaches for the doorknob to steady herself.

Later, she’ll have no idea if he moved first or if she did, but their mouths crash together before she has time to process it. Her mouth opens to him and the sound she makes is a variation of a moan she’s positive has never come out of her before. When she takes her turn, tongue gliding over his, she can feel his hands grasp her waist, slowly walking her backward, door closing behind them. There’s a vague sense of the wall behind her back, but all she can feel is the way his fingers press in against her hips, the scruff on his face against her skin, his tongue pushing back against hers. Her own hands have moved against his back, pressing him close, pressing him to her, and it’s only for lack of air that she parts their lips. She needs a deep breath and feels her head hit the wall with a quiet _thunk_. Eyes closed, she wets her lips, feels his grip tighten for a moment and then relax.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach. I dinna ken what came over me. Just seeing ye in that dress was…”

“It was what?” she murmurs, dragging her eyes open to find him looking right at her.

“Inspirational.”

Claire laughs, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Well, I’m always glad to inspire. But we have dinner reservations.” She watches as he worries his bottom lip with his teeth, resists snagging that lip with her own teeth. “What are you thinking?”

He seems to hesitate before clearing his throat. “Only that food does no’ seem like what I want right at the verra moment.”

Going quiet and still, they stare at one another as what he’s implying sinks in, and she slides her hands up his back further. She waits to ask the question on her lips, instead, letting one hand glide to his hip, then move up his chest slowly. All the while, his eyes haven’t left hers, his lips millimeters away from her own when she does finally speak quietly. “Do you want _me_ , Jamie?”

The response is immediate, a groan just before his lips crash against hers again. “Oh, God, yes. Christ, I wanted ye the moment we first met.”

Either she’s gullible or she’s that turned on because it works, and her hands push off his jacket, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. “Date number five is respectable, right?” she asks breathlessly, eager to feel his mouth against hers again.

“Oh, aye. Verra. Though, we did no’ actually go on the date.” he points out as his hands move up her sides then down again to curve around her backside.

“We’ll eat later,” she decides before kissing him again and this time, letting her fingers tangle in his curls, lips parting for him. He tastes like a hint of whiskey, nothing obtrusive, maybe a little sweetness, and whatever it is she’s lost to it, easily sinking into him even as her fingers reach for his tie, undoing it, letting it hang loosely around his neck.

“Ye have a bedroom, I assume?” he asks when he breaks away long enough to ask, lips pressing to her throat even as he confidently lifts her, hands sliding around to support her weight. The obvious place is down the hall so he begins a confident stride that way, assuming her hand waving in that general direction means to keep going.

She can’t think for the way it feels to be _lifted_ into his arms and _carried_ toward her room, but then they don’t make it and she hits a wall again, grunting into his mouth at the slight force.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pants out, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he kisses a line down her neck and across her chest.

It’s enough time for her to think, and she blinks her eyes open to look at him. “Condoms?”

“Aye,” is the correct and quick answer, though when he puts her down and pats his pockets, he frowns and then comes the string of Gaelic curses.

“...What?” she asks, nearly afraid to hear the answer, already telling herself there are _other things_ they can do.

“I left them in my car. Never have much occasion to need them, ye ken, and they do expire. Or so I’ve been told, so I bought a new box.”

She doesn’t mean to laugh, truly, so her hand moves to cover her mouth before she looks at him. “Go _get them_. We’re using them,” she promises, not even realizing the implication of _them_ , as if they’ll need more than one before he leaves her bed again. His leaving gives her a chance to push a hand through her hair, wetting her lips as she stands dumbly in the hallway, waiting for him. 

She can’t believe she’s doing this. Fifth date. Fifth date in a _week_. Fifth date back to back. It makes her have to stifle a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical to her own ears as she removes her heels and finally moves out of the hallway and into her bedroom. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed when he returns, calling out softly after closing the door behind him. “Back here,” she calls, giving herself credit because her voice sounds less breathless than she thought it would. As soon as she sees him she can’t help her smile, taking the condoms to toss on the nightstand before standing, turning her back to him. “I need help with the zipper.”

There has been absolutely no alcohol consumed on her part but she feels drunk in a very pleasant, light-headed way as soon as she can feel him standing close behind her. Then his lips press against the back of her neck and all thoughts simply cease to exist as her mouth goes dry.

“I believe I can manage a wee zipper,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the back of her neck, nuzzling her skin a little before grasping the zipper and tugging it down slowly, until the dress sags in the front.

Turning to face him now, Claire swallows heavily and pulls her arms free of the dress before stepping out of it, nudging it to the side with her foot. By the way his neck and face seem to turn a new shade of red, her last minute decision to go bra-less was a good one. Moments go by as he simply stares, and finally, she feels just self-conscious enough to drag an arm over her chest. “Christ, will you say something already?” she half jokes, half pleads.

“Claire.” He says her name slowly, as if it’s the first time he ever has and he’s trying to get a feel for it in his mouth. “Ye have to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he tells her with so much sincerity that he sounds almost desperate.

“Have you had your eyesight checked recently?” she asks even as she flushes a little and ducks her head at the compliment.

“I ken beauty when I see it.” A hand reaches out to lightly drag a finger along the soft curve of her breast, both of them with notable hitches to their breath.

“I want to see you,” Claire murmurs quietly, stepping forward and meeting his gaze head on, eyes searching his before the subtle nod he gives has her hands pushing at his shirt and then fingers fumble at the button of his trousers, the zipper, until she’s able to push them down his hips, briefs coming down as well. That’s when she has to step back and look, very close to saying something until he speaks.

“Claire, there’s something ye need to ken before we go any further,” he breathes out, eyes on hers.

Her stomach flips a bit, unsure of what he could possibly say that he thinks would keep her from wanting him. What could change from the hallway to now? Nearly afraid of the answer, she holds her breath a bit, waiting for it as she watches him, bracing herself for something she can’t even fathom.

Jamie’s lips brush hers in a soft kiss before his forehead presses against hers. “I was in an accident years ago. I was caught under some farm equipment, nearly ground my back into nothing. The scars are ugly. Deep. More than one lass has decided it felt too strange to touch. I wilna hold it against ye if ye feel the same.”

She can tell by the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes close, that he’s bracing himself, and she shakes her head before finding his mouth. “I don’t care about your scars, Jamie, whatever they are,” Claire manages as soon as she breaks away from the pull of his lips. “I’m glad you’re here with me. Grateful there are scars from healing so that you could be right here.” Kissing him again, her hands drift from his hips up his sides, then around his back where she can feel the rigid and rough terrain of him. He’s one large scar but her teeth tug at his bottom lip.

“If that’s the only confession, I would quite like to feel you touch me now.”

Relief makes him laugh as he thinks, for a moment, that he just might have to keep this woman. “Is that a formal request, then?”

“Uh-huh.” A very eloquent answer in response to his query as she steps forward, pushing him along until they’re at her bed and he’s sinking down. Moving over him, there’s a flash of a grin before he captures it with a kiss, his hands warm and strong as they move up and down her back.

“Did ye ken yer skin is like ivory, Sassenach?” he asks, voice touched with quiet awe as Jamie looks up at her, his blue eyes taking on a deep indigo color as want and need begin to make themselves known.

“No one’s ever told me that before,” Claire murmurs quietly, bending to press her lips to his throat. Beneath the cologne, he smells of sweet hay and earth and _him_. It’s enough to warrant a taste, lips sucking softly at his skin, pleased at the quiet hum of approval. Her lips drift, to his shoulder and a round, puckered scar there. “Another farming accident?” she asks quietly.

“Nae, only lads being eejits with bows in the woods. It’s from an arrow. I was eighteen and verra drunk when I let a friend, equally pissed, prove he could shoot an arrow through an apple on my head.”

“Oh. He missed.”

“Did he then? Must be why I have a wee scar,” he teases with a grin, shifting so that Claire is under him and his lips can press to the center of her chest. “I’ve never met someone so soft,” he murmurs.

When his lips find the soft curve of her breast, then kiss onward to a nipple, her back arches a bit. “I’ve never met someone who paid so many compliments,” she confesses quietly in return.

“I could write sonnets about ye,” he mumbles against her breastbone, nipple abandoned for now but only to shift focus on the other, giving it the same attention. Soon, though, his curiosity gets the best of him, and he begins a slow journey down her body, breath warm, feeling hers quicken when his tongue drags across the flat expanse of her stomach, a promise of something to come.

“Where are you going?” She hardly recognizes her own voice, one hand tangled in his curls as she tugs just a little, causing him to look up at her.

“Ye ken where. And unless ye have any objections, I’ll be on my way,” he states before kissing the crease of her inner thigh. He does look up though, needing to be sure this is alright, that it’s wanted.

Claire can’t remember the last time anyone did this for her, but she nods, too far gone to think about it. His head ducks, she tenses in anticipation, and then there he is, tongue warm and soft and driving whatever thoughts that lingered right out of her head. For a few moments, she can’t understand where the noise in the room is coming from until she realizes with a start that it’s _her_. Whimpers and moans cut through the otherwise quiet room until breathless panting joins in. She feels his hands slide up her hips, around to cup her close. Without hesitating, one long leg drapes over his shoulder and she feels his groan against the very heat of her. There’s a certain intimacy in this, more of a vulnerability in letting him between her thighs this way. It takes trust, and God help her because she’s only known him a few days, but she trusts him. She knows she could give him every part of her and he would do nothing but protect those pieces.

As his lips and tongue move, she feels two fingers join in and the cry that comes out of her is full of keening want, and she swears she hears herself whimper _faster_ , but she’ll never remember later. Breathing heavily, both hands clutch at the side of his head, gripping tighter the higher her pleasure builds. There are few words of warning before she comes apart, his name leaving her mouth in a strangled gasp as every sense shatters and pleasure makes every nerve ending spark and flame. She’s vaguely aware of the way he kisses his way back up her body while she tries to remember how to breathe.

“Ye squeak when ye come, Sassenach.”

It’s so far from what she expected to hear that her eyes open, taking a moment to focus on his face hovering over hers before laughing breathlessly. “ _What_?” She’s so pleasure-drunk that her accent comes out thick and heavy so that it sounds more like _wot_ than anything more refined.

“I said ye squeak. And it’s verra cute, I like it.”

Claire looks at him and he’s so earnest that it makes her laugh again, one hand curving to the back of his neck. “I do not _squeak_. It was the bed frame.”

“Oh, weel, then yer bed frame is verra talented because it also moaned my name,” Jamie says with no hint of smugness, just amusement.

“I’m sure _you_ make noises,” she rebuts, reaching for the condoms and pulling out one from the box. “Shall we see?”

“Aye, we should. Because I want to see what other noises ye make.” He snags her lips with his own, keeping his composure until her hand wraps around the hard length of him. However he thought she would feel is nothing compared to the actual touch of her, and Jamie’s head drops, eyes closing as she unwraps the condom, nimble fingers sliding it over him.

“I want you, Jamie,” she breathes out, raising her head just enough to kiss him deeply, able to taste herself faintly on his lips. It makes her fingers at the back of his head dig into his hair in anticipation. As soon as she feels the press of him, hard and wanting, the kiss is broken with a gasp, the same leg that once found a home over his shoulder going around his hip now. He sinks into her and her face presses to the side of his neck, feeling him shudder.

“ _Claire_.” Every other word he can think of has melted away. There isn’t anything else, there’s only her and them and the way her body pulls him in. For a moment, he can do nothing but press his forehead to hers, eyes closed as one hand braces himself over her, the other gliding up from her hip in a slow, lazy path to cup her breast.

With a slow roll of her hips, encouraging him, they find a slow, exploratory rhythm together as her hands move over his back, over skin she isn’t sure feels anything because it’s so thick with scars. She grasps at him, holding on as if her life depends on it as she rocks against him and lets out a sharp gasp of approval when he pulls out completely, then thrusts back home fully, slowly. It’s a tease for both of them and she grins in satisfaction when he groans low in his chest. God, he’s strong above her; when her eyes open she can see the way his arms carry his weight easily while he moves. The way he sounds and feels is addicting and though her thoughts are hazy, she realizes she may have been right.

They’re using more condoms than just the one.

His thrusts change on the heels of that thought and she cries out sharply when pleasure explodes behind her eyelids, hands moving around to hold onto his backside, her voice groaning out a command of _more_ , so he repeats the action, faster, harder. She feels his arms, strong and sure, lift her against his chest so that her face can once again find a home in the crook of his neck. She’s so close to his ear that she takes time to whisper around gasps. “I want to feel you.”

It’s a plea that needs no repeating as he moves with more urgency, practically crushing her to his chest. The angle has her pressing against him in a way that causes her fingernails to lightly dig into his skin, hips grinding shamelessly. She has no idea who comes when, but as their bodies collide again she hears nothing but him gasping her name, speaking words in Gaelic and then nothing but her own moans mingling with his. Eventually, their hips still, and with chests heaving, he sinks beside her. Both of them wind up on their sides, clinging as sweat dries and pools at the dip of her lower back. Head on his chest, Claire can hear the hammering beat of his heart, hears when it gradually begins to slow to its normal pace.

“You don’t squeak,” she finally says, opening her eyes to look at him.

“I told ye so.”

“You grunt.” The look on his face has her biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“I dinna _grunt_. Like a caveman ye mean? Och, I’m _offended_ , Claire.” He isn’t, and the way he leans in to kiss her might give it away.

“Yes, like a caveman, but I like it. I like the way you look and the way you feel,” she murmurs, jokes fading away as her face softens. “I like _you_.”

Jamie smiles tenderly at her, nose nuzzling at her shoulder as he lets those words roll around in his mind and press to his heart.

“I like ye too, Sassenach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter (for now) posts Thursday!


	6. In the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The essential morning after fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More (not graphic) smut ahead!

She could watch him sleep forever. She’s always been an early riser with her work schedule and she assumes he is too, being a farmer. So, Claire indulges while she can, laying on her side facing him as the sun begins to peek through her window shades. It’s just enough light to see his face, to see the way his lips turn up into a small smile and there’s such a swell of affection at that, wondering what he’s dreaming of. Reaching out, her fingers touch his curls lightly, pushing them away from his forehead before twisting one lightly around her finger. 

“It’s no wonder ye had a condition to no’ hog the sheets. You have them wrapped around ye like a burrito.”

Claire looks down at herself and it’s true so she opens them, inviting him closer, sighing when he wraps his arms around her. “Well, you did say you run hot,” she counters, smiling with her head tucked against his chest. She tries to think back to the last leisurely morning she had in someone’s arms and nothing quite comes to mind. Mornings past consisted of somewhat formal greetings and questions about how she slept before promptly getting up, each of them readying themselves for separate days that never intersected again until she brought herself home from the hospital. Now, she’s honest to God snuggling. “I go back to work soon. Lunch picnics and early evening dates might go out of the window.”

Jamie’s fingers glide through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp as they do. “We could settle for midnight dates of making sure ye eat and sleep, then.” His voice is still low and gravelly with drowsiness and he nuzzles in against her temple.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she admits, fingers gliding along his chest slowly before tilting her head up enough to see his face. “Would you, after a while?” Frank had grown to resent it, never made plans with her, to try and accommodate her. So many dinners with ‘colleagues’ she always wondered, in the back of her mind, if he was trying to replace her once he realized being married wouldn’t slow her down.

Silence falls over them both for a few moments but his fingers in her hair never falter. “I think, Sassenach, that you’re a rare woman. Full of piss and vinegar and wi’ a heart that has more to give, only no one’s ever given ye a chance.” His hand moves between them, over her chest to press against that steady thumping. “A heart is a delicate thing, ye ken. Especially one such as yours.”

Her breath, caught in her throat, makes her words sound quieter, more unsure than she means to when she speaks. “And how is my heart?”

“A wee bit bruised. It was no’ taken care of properly before. What are missed meals and long work hours compared to the way ye throw yer head back and laugh when I’ve said something that really gets ye going? Christ, to hear that laugh and see that smile, the way yer eyes go bonny and bright, would be worth a thousand rescheduled date nights.”

Claire’s head tucks under his chin, her voice muffled now when she speaks. “Do you always say such perfect things?”

“No. I suppose the inspiration from last night has carried over. It’s only…” Jamie pauses, then sits up, gently placing her on the pillow so he can look at her, see her face and watch her eyes. “It’s only that I’ve no’ ever felt this exact way before. As though ye make everything seem brighter. Ye dinna even have to be physically close. Just the way I ken I’ll see ye again is enough. Although, physically close is no’ a bad way to be.”

Reaching out, her fingers lightly move along his jaw, eyes moving over his face, taking in every feature before she finally speaks again. “Did you know you have the most incredible bone structure I’ve ever seen in my life?”

His eyes had closed before, to concentrate on the feel of her touch but now they open to look at her curiously. “Are ye always this complimentary when a man confesses to ye such deep feelings?”

“No one’s ever confessed something like that to me before. Did I not handle it right?” she asks even as her body shifts and she relocates over him, hips settling against his.

“It was a solid effort, and no one’s ever complimented my _bone structure_ before.” Jamie’s hands move down the smooth expanse of her back until his hands can rest at her hips where his thumbs trace slow circles against her skin. “It was all true, by the way. I’m no’ sure I could ever let you go now.”

Going still, Claire studies a spot on his chest, tries to put into words what he does to her. “This frightens me, I think. I don’t mean I’m afraid of you, I mean I’ve always thought feeling this way this quickly wasn’t possible. That it was something better left for romance novels. Christ, even saying that out loud feels cliche.”

Reaching for her hand, Jamie presses her palm to his and watches the way they seem to fit together before bending his fingers to lace through hers. “I dinna ken what it is between us, whatever _it_ is pushing us together, but it’s there.”

Looking at their hands, she can’t help the knot of feeling unsure in her stomach, of fear and right on its heels, excitement. “It feels right, Jamie.” Slowly, her hips rock; not urgently, just a slow back and forth. “But I can’t help but worry that after the weekend is over and I go back to work, you’ll be frustrated.”

His free hand, the one that’s been planted at her hip all this time, moves up her side slowly. His thumb grazes the side of her breast, sneaks around to stroke a nipple and he watches it harden before shifting his gaze to meet hers. “What will ye do, the first time I cancel on ye while ye’re off because I need to put together a last-minute restaurant order?”

Claire contemplates that, letting out a soft breath. “I would swing by and drop off a meal. Try not to interfere too much if there’s nothing I could do to help.”

“And what about a weekend where I’m so tired, I dinna want to bother wi’ going out once the farmer’s market has closed? When I only want to go home and shower and laze about all day?”

She catches on and smiles softly, tugging his hand to her lips and kissing the back of it. “That depends. Do you care for company?”

“Oh, aye. I’ll always care for yer company.” His hand cups her breast now, hips moving with more intent, watching as her eyes flutter closed then open again, their color darker with building arousal. “Do ye have an answer then? Something to quiet the worry?”

Claire leans over him a moment, close enough so that he can draw a nipple between his lips, understanding without her having to say a word. Lips parting and eyes closed, her response is breathless but unmistakable in its truth. “I trust you, Jamie.” Reaching to the nightstand, her fingers close around a condom and she opens it, scooting back to slide it over him, hard and wanting. Both hands plant on his chest, continuing to rock, to tease as she watches him.

“I trust ye too, Sassenach. I have since ye burned that lamb.” He raises his head to lavish attention to her opposite breast, groaning against her as his hands move to her hips once more, trying to keep her balanced. “Weel, I dinna trust ye wi’ cooking.”

Her laugh is stilted because it comes with a soft moan. “Why--why did that make you trust me?”

Sneaking a hand between them, his thumb seeks and finds her clit, rubbing slow circles there as he watches a flush spread on her skin. “Because ye trusted if ye messed it up I would no’ call the whole thing off.”

When she tries to speak, her words don’t quite make it as she whimpers and closes her eyes. Fighting for an actual thought process, she keeps rocking against his hand. “I was surprised. When you came back,” she admits. They’d known one another less than twelve hours; he’d had no obligation to return and with so much food.

“Couldna let ye _starve_ ,” he retorts, moving his fingers faster, delighting in the way she gasps loudly and the way her lips part. It’s an odd thing to notice, perhaps, the way freckles fall over her cheekbones and across her nose, but notice he does as he’s touching her, trying to make her come undone.

“Jamie, I want you inside of me.” She doesn’t even recognize her own voice, breathless and higher pitched.

“No,” he decides on a whim, shaking his head. “I want to watch ye.”

Claire’s eyes open, forehead creasing only as she studies his face to see if he’s serious. When she realizes he is, for a moment she wonders; what does she sound like, look like, _feel_ like? And then, just as quickly, she doesn’t care because he smiles and his fingers move, touch sure and strong. Every stroke feels like he’s leaving a trail of fire in his wake and never in her life has she felt so exposed. But Christ, the way he makes her feel, the way he’s so sure of how he’s moving, watching her face, adjusting to how she responds. She’s positive it’s the fastest she’s ever come undone in her life. He leaves her panting, gasping, and still able to nod at an unasked question as his hand moves and his hips press closer.

The way he fills her makes both of them sigh, her body bowing until her forehead can press to his. The night before was hurried and frenzied, a getting to know one another that resulted in clashing teeth and frantic touching. There is none of that now. Now she realizes, as she pulls back just enough to see his face, that he’s making love to her. He’s trying to touch a part of her that no one else ever has, a part of her that he can keep. Gasping his name has him pushing up more urgently, has her sitting upright and pressing her hands to his stomach as they move in tandem. The need for friction and heat overrides slow and easy and she hears the sounds that tumble out of her, words that are nothing but moans mixed with pleas for more and _more_ until there’s nothing. The first spark of her pleasure begins low in her pelvis and arcs up her spine, exploding out of her in a loud cry that’s half his name, half _Christ_ as her body moves out of her own control. She feels his breathing change, can hear him panting, is aware that one hand stays low on her back while the other moves up to tangle into her hair. Claire hears him and she’s not sure he’s speaking English as he comes, his entire body tense until the only sound is their ragged breaths, the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.

When his arms tug her down against his chest she doesn’t protest it, too boneless to move away or to the side. They just woke but she can’t move, and so she drifts with eyes closed, listening to the staccato beating of his heart until the rhythm evens and slows a bit. She isn’t aware of how much time has passed when he speaks quietly.

“Sassenach?”

She hums, smiling at his chosen name for her that will, apparently, stick. “Hmm?” No words have yet found their way back to her.

“Do you ken I wil no’ expect ye to be less than the person ye’d like if ye decide to keep me around?”

For a few moments she’s quiet, but then, keeping her head down against his chest, she finally finds her ability to speak. “A part of me still worries, Jamie. I can’t help it right now. This week has been something I never expected.” A _week_. And not even a full one. “But for the record, I’ve decided to keep you around.”

At her words, his arms wind tighter around her and he kisses the side of her head, only barely containing a smile. “Oh? What was it that won ye over?”

“The sex isn’t bad.”

“Is no’ _bad_?”

“Is incredible,” she amends, finally rolling so that she can face him, propping herself up on her elbow.

“Much better,” Jamie decides, mirroring her position after relieving himself of the condom, tying it, tossing it in the bin under the nightstand. “Is that it, then? Ye found someone to properly bed ye and ye’re set?”

Claire smiles, letting out a soft breath and reaching out to push her fingers through his curls. “No, that isn’t it.” Her eyes search his, trying to make sense of the thoughts running through her mind. “I know you won’t try to make me into someone I’m not, Jamie. And I know you respect my job just as I respect yours.”

“I ken I’ll have to earn all of yer trust, Claire. But I promise I’ll no’ go anywhere for as long as it takes. If ye trust that for now, then the rest will come later,” Jamie assures her, reaching out to tuck curls behind her ear. “Beyond that, as I said Sassenach, I canna let ye go now.”

She laughs softly and lets her head fall down against her pillow. “Why is that?” she asks, amused and smitten. Happy.

“Because I’m no’ an _eejit_.” He seals that declaration with a kiss. “And ye kiss me like yer verra life depends on it. I do like _that_.”

“Oh, do you?” she asks even as she tugs him closer to press her lips to his until they’re both breathless.

“Exactly like that. I canna go another day in my life wi’ out _that_.” His hand moves down her back and over her hip, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her neck.

They stay content, wrapped in one another and touching, kissing, until she lets out a soft breath, reveals a new observation. “Did you know you smile in your sleep?” she asks with a smile of her own.

“Do I? No one’s ever told me as such before. Do I snore?”

“Mhmm, like a pot-bellied pig.”

Jamie gasps, offended. “I do _no’_ , it was a trick question I already ken the answer to.”

“How do you know what sort of sounds you make in your sleep?” she protests, dodging fingers aiming to tickle.

“I’m no’ able to snore when my teeth are too busy chattering because ye tricked me about the conditions regarding yer blankets.”

When she laughs this time it's loud and uncontrolled, her eyes closing with it. She can feel him laughing with her though he stops just to watch her. To take in the roundness of the apples of her cheeks, the way her chin dimples.

“Ye’re the bonniest lass I’ve ever seen, Claire. Everything, from the curl of yer hair to that verra round arse.”

“Oh, stop,” she laughs, even as she lets her hand glide up and down his back slowly. Her fingers trace along the line of a scar, one of so many as she watches his face.

“Ye dinna mind them?” he asks, meaning the scars.

“No, Jamie. How could I?” With her free hand, she strokes his cheek, then drags her fingers up his jawline. “They’re a part of you that makes up a whole. When I touch them, I know you should have died, but you didn’t.”

“Verra nearly, and the pain, it made me want nothing more than to die. But I did no such thing. And now, here I am wi’ ye. In yer arms.”

Claire smiles softly and slides closer, so close that her forehead presses to his. “Here you are. With me.” Their lips meet and she wraps around him, an effort to be as close as possible. “Do you need to go?” she asks quietly. “Duties to tend to at the farm?”

Jamie’s face presses in against her neck. “Aye, quite a few duties.”

Her nose nuzzles against his, eyes closing. “Do you want me to let you go?”

His head drops, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck.

“No, Sassenach. Dinna let go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, who commented, who shared on tumblr. You've really made my first journey into Outlander fic an incredible one. Look for an epilogue to the story tomorrow and a few other one-shots set in this same 'universe' in the next few days and weeks. You can find me on tumblr with the same user name; feel free to send prompts if you wish! I don't think I'll ever quite let this version of Jamie and Claire go, but I'm definitely working on a new fic as well.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know what direction they're headed.

Thirteen hours, forty-five minutes, and eighteen seconds. That’s how long it’s been since Claire sat for any length of time and now she can’t or she might not get up again. It’s two in the morning; her shift ended at midnight and she still needs to drive home. As she walks around the corner and toward the nurse’s station, she hears a very familiar Scottish lilt, and her forehead creases with curiosity and confusion even as a smile begins to bud on her lips.

“Honest, Cora, I dinna ken how ye did it, but somehow these scones are better than my own sister’s.” He makes the nurse smile and blush, all by being polite.

“Are you flirting with the night shift?” Claire asks of Jamie, tilting her head when she sees him. It’s been eight months, but just the sight of him still makes her smile, makes her stomach do a small, excited flip.

“Oh, aye. Cora was tellin’ me all her children have flown the nest and she’s no one to cook for. I told her she could give ye lessons, Sassenach.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she says with a dramatic roll of her eyes, walking to him, looping an arm around his waist and smiling softly. He smells good, like clean soap and the new aftershave she picked up on a whim (something that sounds French but probably isn’t). She realizes he’s wearing pajama pants, slippers, and a shirt he always puts on before bed if they’re lounging, but inevitably winds up on the floor before they go to bed. “What are you doing here dressed like a ragamuffin?”

“I’m here to drive ye home even though ye just implied I have no sense of 2 a.m. fashion,” he says, nodding a goodbye at the nurse before guiding Claire toward the elevator. “I’m no’ letting ye drive home so late when ye’ve been awake so long.”

Claire would protest but she finds she doesn’t have the energy to and instead leans against his side, eyes closed. “No work tomorrow, though.” Or the next day, which means sleeping and at least some time with him to be lazy.

“Aye, and I’m glad for it. I do have boxes to get from Lallybroch, though. The last of them.”

“Are you still sure? It takes you away from being right at the farm, you have to drive more--”

Jamie quiets her with a soft kiss even as the elevator stops to let someone else on. It doesn’t make him pull away or end their conversation. “I was drivin’ every day anyway, Sassenach. Now I’ll only be driving to work in the mornings and coming home in the evening, same as you. Right?”

She does love it when he talks her through her own worry that she’s asking too much of him. “Right. This time, Fraser.”

“All the time. I’m right _all_ the time.” When the elevator doors open, he walks with her, hand in hand to his car.

“You realize this means we need to come back for my car tomorrow.”

“Now ye’re pushing it, Claire.” He pulls her close as they walk, kissing her temple. “I have a whole plan. First, ye sleep in.”

“I like that plan so far.”

“Then ye take a hot bath after eating the breakfast I’ll break my back making. I’ll go to Lallybroch, do a few things there, bring the boxes back to your place--”

“ _Our_ place.”

“Excuse me. _Our place_. Then I’ll take ye out to lunch, we’ll go look at furniture and then come here, get the car, go home.”

Claire stands at the passenger side door as he opens it and pouts, just a little. “And is there room somewhere in there for me to have my way with you?”

“Och, aye. A verra important ‘Claire gets whatever she wants’ clause. Good tomorrow only, but at any point.”

“What if we’re in the furniture store?”

“Weel, I canna think of a better way to test out the beds.”

Claire laughs, but before ducking into the car, she pulls him close and presses her forehead to his. “How are you real? How have you stayed so…” She lets out a breath then just kisses him softly, a touch of sheer exhaustion keeping her from being as racy as she’d like.

Once the kiss is broken, Jamie kisses the tip of her nose. “Ye make it easy. Come on, into the car wi’ ye before ye fall asleep right here.”

Claire agrees easily, melting into the seat once she’s buckled in. Then, as he drives, she closes her eyes, letting out a soft breath.

“Take me home, Jamie.”


End file.
